


I'll Be Gone

by Aeacus



Series: The Dreams of Travellers [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Culture Exposure, M/M, Romance, slightly OOC, travelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeacus/pseuds/Aeacus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk and Jake are travelling the world according to their whims and dreams. This is a series of captured moments. Each chapter will be have three scenes of a common theme. Again slightly OOC but hopefully not too much. Continuation of When the come for me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Island - Cliff, Beach, Night Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Oh shit, I'm at this again. This is the rumored sequel that I've been trying to figure out how to write. Well, I got something going. The posting schedule is going to be erratic and slow (but knowing myself, I'll probably have it done by the end of summer at least). Enjoy!

I pull myself over the top edge of the cliff and fall onto my ass. My arms feel like jelly after that last push to the top. I can feel the muscles twitching and spasming as they try to dispel the buildup of lactic acid caused by exertion. I pant heavily into the cool morning air. I lean forward, resting my forehead on my knee. When I catch my breath, I look up and over the edge of the cliff. The sight takes my breath away again just for a moment. The sun streaks its bright golden light over the surface of the ocean as it breaks over the horizon. The clouds are all tinged with yellow and pink and stand bright against the orange of the lower sky and the bright blue of a new day above.

“Beautiful. Just beautiful.” On my knees, since my legs do not seem to want to work properly yet, I crawl to the edge of the rock and call down below, “You need to get up here to see this!”

“I bloody well will on my own bloody time. I can’t fucking scramble up cliff faces like some simian-armed companion of mine,” came the terse reply.

I simply laugh down to him and sit back down, pulling my pack around to the front. I pull out my sketch book and the small packet of pastels that we picked up at the latest town. As quick as I can I capture the morning beauty of the sunrise.

I am blowing off the excess dust when an arm breaches the top edge of the cliff. After a grunt of effort, dark hair and flashing emerald eyes soon follow. I quickly flip to the next page of my sketch book and capture the awkward angles of his body as he climbs up to the plateaued peak alongside me. He mimics my previous actions by also rolling over and sitting down as soon as his second foot clears the precipice. He looks over at my drawing and groans.

“Must you capture all of my unattractive moments? I swear you just position yourself to catch the worst angles and then you feel compelled to record them for what? Posterity?”

“Calm down. These are not going on display anywhere. It is just a study of the human body. I can not help it that you give me such wonderful challenges that inspire my hand to draw.”

“That’s bull and you know. Now what am I supposed to be looking at that you were fawning over just moments ago?”

I glance up and note that he has completely missed the sunrise. The view is still spectacular between the sun and ocean turning everything to the horizon into a field of glittering light. Instead of answering directly, I abandon my figure sketches and return the page to my drawing of the sky.

“Oh,” he murmurs quietly as he takes in the colors. I get that flickering sense of pride in my gut that I always get when I show him one of my drawings because they are always accompanied by that soft smile. I am sure that he isn’t even aware that he is smiling. “It is a shame that I missed that. But it’s still breathtaking up here, isn’t it?”

“Indeed.”

He looks out over the island, everything clearly visible from its tallest peak, as he recovers his breath. I look at him.

* * *

“Oh look at those waves!” We have barely broken through the jungle’s undergrowth before the words fell out of his mouth in awe. I do as he suggests and take in the tropical blue water tipped with white foam that crashes into the golden sands of the undisturbed shore only broken by flat stones that have been worn away by time and tides. Several matching dark gray rocks form jetties that encircle the cove, only letting part of the ocean touch the land that we stand on. Several seagulls seemingly float in a neat line on the constant winds coming in from off the coast.

I hear the thump of equipment being dropped to the ground next to me. When I turn to look to see what is the matter, I only catch the fluttering of fabric and the impression of movement. As his shirt is also flung away a few steps farther on, I watch a trail of sand being kicked up by his heels. He pauses only briefly in his journey to shed himself his pants. A quick look back to the start of his path, I note his boots are underneath his discarded jacket. By the time I look up again, he is splashing merrily in the waves, kicking up more white spray.

Sighing to myself, I shuffle my burden to a single shoulder to that I can accommodate his. I pick up and shake out his jacket, folding it over the arm that is holding his boots. Soon his shirt and pants join my load until I find a flat rock sitting a little bit taller than the others and blissfully without sand. After depositing our equipment and neatly folding his clothes back up, I look to find him again.

He has wandered quite far out into the cove despite the water only coming up his waist. I am just about to call out to him when he drops suddenly into the water. I start forward with urgency until I see him return to his previous position, sputtering a little to get the salt water out of his mouth. I am relieved when I see his glasses firmly in hand even as he shakes his head to relieve his hair of the excess drips.

“Found the edge!” he shouts back to me when he finally replaces his glasses to find me standing just above the latest wave’s mark.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes! Just fine. Just surprised me is all. Wasn’t watching where I put my feet. Even with this crystal clear water. It’s marvelous! You can see all of the fish just swimming gaily around! There are some big ones too!”

I can feel my shoulders slump in relief. He is always doing bullheaded reckless things.

Like diving into the water only moments after the recent head underwater escapade that has me stepping into the surf with alarm. Only vaguely in the back of my mind do I realize I should take off my own articles of clothing as he had before entering the salty water, but the thought is shoved to the side as I stare at the surface of the water, looking for any sign of him underneath.

Just as the next wave crashes against me, he reemerges. He way he flips his torso out of the water is much more controlled and elegant than before. The wriggling slab of silver in his hands is not.

“Can you cook this?”

I do not instantly recognize the fish but I am sure that I can make something of it.

* * *

The sands retain the heat from the sun of the day enough that the fire used for dinner is rendered moot and will not be necessary until late into the night if at all. We lay on my old robe and gaze up at the stars. His head is pillowed on my shoulder as he recounts tales of the constellations. He knows about three per figure from his travels across different cultures. I actually only recognize a few to be entirely honest. It is refreshing to hear new tales. It is nice to hear his take on some of the familiar.

“And that is the water bearer, Aquarius. It’s actually considered to be an air based horoscope not a water one like everyone assumes. But those who actually care about that already know as I have found out. You didn’t already know that, did you?”

“I did.”

“Ugh! Does everyone and their mother know that already? It was such a revelation to me.” He harrumphs and crosses his arms instead of pointing out the constellations to me.

“Forgive me for ruining your fun.”

“Oh it’s alright.” He relaxes, his previous annoyance dismissed so soon. “I suppose it’s not that exciting.” He lets the crashing ocean fill the silence between us for a moment. “As a young boy I’d always climb on top of the roof to watch the stars. The city lights blocked more than you think they would for being so far away from the sky, but that just made me want to leave and find somewhere else where I could really see the stars. Out here you can. You can see all the heavens in their glory.”

“I have done similar,” I offer softly. “But I always had the impression that someone was looking back at me. That there was someone one up in the stars looking down and watching Earth.”

“Someone in the stars? What an adventure that would be to find them.”

“You are not even done exploring this world and you want to go find others?” I tease.

“This adventurous spirit cannot be dampened!” His shout echoes in the quiet night for a little bit. And then softer, “But I guess that is a little difficult saying I can barely reach the top of a volcano. How am I to reach the stars?”

He just sounds so forlorn, a quiet sadness about that question that I immediately want to promise to get him to the stars no matter how impossible it might seem.

“Perhaps your dreams will show you.” It is the only consolation I can provide even as my mind categorically goes through my knowledge to piece together the solution. It’s a matter of physics to get enough inertia to push away from gravity but even the weight of the fuel would have to be added to the amount needed to push it and the combustion of such would need to be controlled to keep it propelled against the ground and at a slow burn that it does not explode whatever craft was used to carry the load and us and whatever air we take with us because based on the thinness of air simply at the top of the volcano compared to base level air must be a premium at the higher altitudes if it exists at all between the stars.

“A fantastic dream then.”

I agree in silence as he drifts off into sleep and I continue to plan a starcraft.


	2. City - Market, Restaurant, Bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say slow updating? Silly me.

I can barely hear myself think over the din of the merchants shouting to advertise their wares, customers bartering for the best price, buskers earning their dinner, children playing tag through the streets, women gossiping from their windows above the street. My eyes feel dry from being kept so wide open as not to miss an inch of the colorful stalls filled with rich fabrics, decadent foods, aromatic spices, beautiful carvings, flashing jewels, shining weapons, fluttering caged birds and small animals, and other opulent wares. The people in the crowd push against me as the flow of traffic pulls me along. No one minds personal space as those in a rush shove forward, knocking me into others who stalled to look at something on the side. The rich musky scent of sweat presses around me only to be broken by the sting of spice or animal. The dusty air catches the sunlight and makes everything glow with a ethereal radiance that makes me squint and cough.

He is a breath of fresh and familiar air when he finds me again. He grabs my wrist and drags me forward. His broad shoulders and unyielding presence causes the crowd to part and I follow meekly in his wake. He keeps looking back and the way his mouth moves indicates that he is saying something to me, but I cannot catch anything but hints of his voice in the cacophony of this foreign market.

My market was much quieter and much more open where one could stroll along and admire everything and pick out the best and exactly what one wants instead of this madness.

I have totally lost track of our location and would not be able to find my way at all if it were not for the tight grip on my wrist. I do not like this. I do not like this at all.

Too many people, too many inputs. I cannot hear anything because I can hear it all.

I do not like this.

He must catch sight of my distress somewhere on my face and stops for a moment. He pulls me close and leans up to me. I help and lean down and finally I can hear him.

“Are you alright?”

I shake my head in the negative.

“Too much for you?”

I nod.

“Ah. Sorry. I didn’t think...” I can’t hear him as he turns away to look ahead at where we were heading. I grab his wrist with my other hand drawing his attention back to me. He brings his hands up to the sides of my face, covering both my ears and peripheral vision. It strangely helps as I concentrate just on his face, just on his words.

“I’ll get you out of here soon. We are almost to our hotel. I promise,” he tells me in our little sanctuary between us in this sea of chaos. “Just hold tight to me.”

I nod and he releases my head but leaves one hand out for me as he turns back around. I reach out and grab it, twining and locking our fingers together as he starts off again.

I do not like this, but I can get through it with him.

* * *

The place he finds for dinner is a restaurant on the roof tops, high above the city and all of its bustling traffic. One can still hear the crowds milling about but it is more of a background murmur now. The wicker chairs are strangely comfortable as we sit next to each other and stare out across the stacked buildings. From this vantage point, I can map out the streets and vectors of the city that confused me so earlier.

But I put that behind me as I sip on the wine and feel the breeze on my skin. The air carries wafts of delicious aromas from the kitchen that promises our food will be out soon. I might have ordered too much though, but given the menu, once I had him translate it verbally to me, I realized I did not recognize most of the dishes. He limited me to only a few as he joked about my voracious appetite not only for food but for novelty. But now that I am travelling I am finding so much I did not know was out here.

“If you keep glancing at the kitchen,” he startles me out of my reverie, my gaze focusing on the swinging door separating me and the chef, “I’m going to drag you over there and throw you in so you can ask as many questions as you want.”

“No. No, that is quite alright. I can learn from what they bring out.”

“I’m positive you can, but why not ask the masters.”

“I do not want to bother them.”

He looks around the rooftop and them back to me, raising a suspicious eyebrow. “There are only a handful of patrons here. I don’t think they would mind an inquiry or two.”

I shake my head and return to watching the golden evening light make the bricks glow with a warmth that contrasts to the cool shadows on the other side of the building. He shrugs in return and continues telling me about all of the interesting finds he managed to discover in the market today. His story does not just encompass the item of purchase but its backstory and the story of the merchant who sold it to him. He is telling me about the old grandmother who still handweaves all of her grandchildren’s and great grandchildren’s clothes as well as the pieces for market when the first of our plates come out. I sample each, naming each of the ingredients and possible cooking techniques as he starts in with the gusto of a starving man. But I suppose that is always how he eats.

His enthusiasm does not persist through the fifth course. It seems that I managed to order more than even he can eat. I am beginning to feel full and I have only been eating enough to taste. I comment on how I am wasting food.

“Nonsense. You are always allowed to get whatever you want. And this is certainly not going to waste. I’ll just have them wrap it up. I saw someone who could use a meal like this on the way here.”

This man never ceases to surprise me.

And he does so again after the end of the meal, going through with his threat to drag me to the kitchens so that I may speak to the chefs.

* * *

It's the last night in this city, so of course we have to do out drinking. I still don’t understand how he finds these types of places though. Little niches that would seem to attract all of the unseemly characters into its shadows and darkness, but instead I find that all of my drinks are made of the best spirits I have tasted. There is a sharpness on my tongue that compliments the sweetness in my mouth and the burn against the back of my throat. The noise level of the bar is high and it is crowded but he’s managed to tuck me into a back corner out of the way. I can observe and watch from back here instead of being immersed in the throbbing mass of people. I watch as he slips through all the way to the bar to order something else that will no doubt entertain my pallet. The way he adapts to the push of traffic, dodging and ducking around people is incredible. I can almost pick out the baritones of his voice as he calls out to the bar tender. I watch the bright smile that he flashes to the patrons that he rubs elbows with. I know he is talking about me when he flashes those candlelit emerald eyes back towards me.

My fingers itch to draw, to somehow capture the way he moves back through the crowd. He pauses for a moment as a pretty girl solicits a quick dance. Ever the gentleman he cannot reject the invitation even when he is in the middle of an errand. My hands want to record the way the pair move, the flare of her skirt and hair, his awkward arms as he holds the two glasses high above his head, the way his body leans towards her, the way his hips catch the rhythm of the music that filters over the conversations throughout the bar. I find my fingertips tracing the shapes on the table top.

He finally disengages himself and tumbles the rest of the way to me with laughter bright on his face. I can’t help but reflect the brilliant smile. He passes me my next drink even as I feel the warm glow of the previous alcohol cross my face.

“Hoo boy! It’s hopping tonight!” He slides into the seat next to me. “I’ve never seen this place so crowded. And the music is just fantastic. And the drinks, good as ever.” He leans in close to me so that I can hear him. I catch a whiff of perfume, possibly from his brief dancing partner. “Are you doing okay, chap?” His eyes are full of concern, unfiltered and raw enough to make me feel on top of the world.

“Yea. Never better.” I frown slightly when I hear the slur in my words. “Drunk I might be however.”

“Well,” he claps a hand on my shoulder. I lean into the warmth. “That’s the point of this exercise!” I find myself smiling brightly at him with my own laughter at the tip of my tongue. I wash it away with a sip of the drink. It’s both fruity and spicy and I wonder at the flavor combination.

Only for a moment before the music changes. I tilt my head to better listen to it.

“You know this song?” he asks me. Then I realize I had been singing the lyrics that I knew went with it. I nod and purposely sing, raising my voice above the din. He wraps his arm around my shoulder and joins in.

Our voices apparently encouraged others and soon the whole place was singing.


	3. Travel - Trains, Boat, Horses

The click clack of the train wheels against the track is extremely easy to fall asleep to.

The constant fidgeting of my travelling companion is not.

The fourth time he sighs heavily, I open my eyes from my almost nap to look over at him. He is leaning heavily on his chin staring out the window. His glasses are nearly touching the pane. His breath is fogging it up. His fingers are toying with the exterior door release.

“No you cannot jump out of the train.”

He pulls his hand away from the latch like it had suddenly heated. “I- I was not going to! What a preposterous idea,” he defends with a grumble as he resettles himself in the seat.

“You have told me that story before and you were lucky that you timed your exit correctly to land in the lake with your inertia. You were lucky not to land on any rocks and not to have knocked yourself unconscious.”

He just crosses his arms and pouts. You raise an eyebrow in his direction at how a fully grown man can look like such a petulant child because he is being told not to jump out of a moving train.

“I’m bored.”

“Take a nap.” I return my head to my makeshift pillow and close my eyes.

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can. It is easy.”

“I can’t.”

“Find a comfortable position.”

“Like yours?” I suppose mine is fairly unconventional. I am lying on the seat with my back across the two cushions and my legs propped up on the wall, one straight and the other bent. My robe is bundled up behind my head. One arm is draped across my stomach and the other hangs down in the aisle between us.

“Yes.”

“I can’t.”

“Then go up to the dining car and get something to eat.”

“I’m bored. Not hungry.”

Out of suggestions I ignore him. The peace only lasts for a few minutes.

“How much longer do we have?”

“How long have we been travelling?”

“Three hours? Maybe?”

“And how long is the trip supposed to be?”

“I don’t know.”

I open my eyes and look over at him. He is still pouting. “You do not know,” I repeat.

“I don’t know. I just pointed at the board and said that one. I didn’t actually look at it.”

“Do you even know where we are going?”

“No. If I knew that I’d know how long the trip would be,” he counters as if it was the sanest logic in the world.

“You do not know where we are going.”

“Correct.”

“You do not know where we are going.”

“You just said that,” he sounds exasperated. He startles at my laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“You do not know where we are going.” I laugh harder at the statement.

“And what is so blasted funny about that?”

“You do not know where we are going.” I clutch my sides as I lose myself to laughter.

“I don’t get it. What’s the joke? This is not fair. Why are you laughing?”

I cannot stop myself, bursting into a new round each time he asks me that. My laughter only subsides when a steward knocks on the door a moment before sliding it open. He takes in my upside down visage quite well but then,

“Excuse me sir, where is this train going?”

The steward’s face at the question makes me start laughing again.

* * *

“No you cannot jump off of the boat,” he interrupts my quiet thoughts as I stand at the rail. When I glance over at him, he has the most smug look on his face that I have seen my entire time with him. I recognize his phrasing and his attempt at mimicking my tone of voice.

“I was not planning on it.”

“I’ve been watching you watch the dolphins now for the past hour.” He leans back against the rail to engage me in conversation.

“I was not planning on joining them.” Though now that he has mentioned it...

I have been standing at the bow of the ship, slightly starboard, enjoying the brush of the wind across my face and through my hair. The salt spray on the air, kicked up from the foaming tips of breaking waves, tickles my lungs as I breathe the essence of the ocean in. The deep blue waters stretch out away from us until finally curving away over the horizon with no land in sight.

I have been admiring the way the sleek gray bodies of the dolphins cut through the waves. They playfully jump out of the water with brilliant arcs through the air to get a better look at the luxury ship. They easily dance around us, doing spurts of speed to lap around the ship several times at once. We are not moving very fast as the voyage seems to be more about the journey than the destination for this leg of our adventure. In fact, I could easily swim as fast as the ship for some distance.

“Sure you weren’t. Just as I didn’t want to abandon the train,” he brings up his counter example again.

I casually slip off my shoes. The weather has been pleasant enough that my clothes are light enough. All of my other possessions are safely tucked away in our cabin.

“I had not considered the idea until now.” I take a couple steps back away from the railing. “But that does seem like a grand idea.” I grin at the way his jaw drops as he comprehends the situation. It is a beautiful expression that just dares me to complete my intentions. Without giving him any time to react, I dash forward, leaping to the top edge of the railing and executing a perfect dive into the water with his cry cut off as water closes around my head.

The temperature is a little breath taking. The bubbles kiss my skin as I glide through the water, feeling a light drag on my clothes. I shake wet hair out of my eyes as I break the surface. Orienting myself quickly, I find the ship slowly pulling away from me. I fall into a easy rhythmic pace to match until I am equal to my launch point. The dolphins swim closer to me as if approving my choice of action to join them in the ocean.

“That’s not fair!” I hear him shout from the deck. “You hypocrite!”

* * *

Horses are brilliant majestic creatures. I love feeling the muscles bunch and stretch underneath me as they gallop. The wind whips through my hair and the mane that I clutch as I lean over the powerful neck of the gorgeous black beauty that I ride. She races the wind with a competitive spirit. The rolling hills and soft dirt roads disappear under her hooves in a blur. I feel her chest expand between my knees with each deep breath. I feel her power with each push of her hoof against ground. I share her thrill of the race and revel in the way she runs.

When I glance over to my side, I see him on his own horse, a white stallion of good stock and impeccable heritage. The pair is in their own race against the wind, keeping pace with my steed as we thunder along. I know the wide grin on his face is mirrored on mine, and that my hair is as wind swept as his. He catches my gaze and the smile grows an impossible fraction more.

I return to looking ahead, taking in the vista of farmland presented before the road curves away from the valley. We are far from civilization with only fertile land and small farm houses as company. It is a free as I have ever felt. The speed of horseback is freeing as anything I have ever experienced but the openness of the land just makes me want to fly.

I catch the tail end of his shout as I crest the next hill. On the opposite side, I reluctantly reign in the magnificent beast I ride. He comes trotting up next to me.

“I think we missed our turn back there.”

“There was a turn?”

“Yes. Apparently you were too busy racing to notice.”

Though I notice now that he is in no hurry to stop our progress in this direction. “So where are we heading now?”

“I have no idea. I’m letting your whims decide.”

“Are you sure?”

“My dreams only said horses. Not what to do with said horses. Whims are fun, chancy things,” he gestures broadly to emphasize his words. I have come to accept his method of travel. He is guided by dreams, chance, whims, and other intangible ideals that somehow work out. That somehow led him to me. Twice.

I look ahead at unknown lands. The warm sun of the day feels good against my skin. The sky is clear and the air sweet with the summer grasses and freshly turned soil. My horse seems to be itching to go faster than the smooth walk that we force in order to have conversation. The breeze pushes at my back in challenge.

“Race you to the end of the road,” I issue. Without confirming his intentions, I squeeze my legs and set my horse onto the face pace she desires. I hear whooping laughter behind me and know he is following.


	4. Entertainment - Belly Dancing, Fire Breathing, Henna

The music fills the evening, echoing lightly off the walls of the large room we are seated in. The cushioned seats rest a the edges of the low tables covered with dishes holding the remains of dinner. The amount of food that was provided and still remains calls back memories to the dinner that I ordered too much. I doubt that I will be able to visit the master chefs this night however as the music shifts even as dessert is brought out. I have no idea who would still have room for such sweet pastries and syruped fruits after all of the meat and grains and drinks that are still sitting out. 

But all thoughts of food disappear as the rhythm of the song increases into a crescendo that crests when the curtains across the stage pull apart revealing a harem of young women dressed in silk scarves. Glitter and metal discs catch the fire light in a dazzling shimmering display, highlighting their hips and flat stomachs. The sounds from their sharp movements causes the decorations to jingle in rhythm with the rest of the music, becoming and instrument unto themselves. 

I watch their technique, each one very skilled but with their own subtle variations coming through the small movements. The loose pants are similar to the ones I used to wear before I had to switch into more travel appropriate clothes. Each dancer wears a different bright color reminding me of the bright plumage of the birds that I found in my gardens.

I glance over and find my companion staring slack jawed at them. But he would not be looking at the dancers in the same light that I am. I frown a little at how concentrated his attention is to the one in blue. I study her as well and cannot find fault in her. 

Then I notice some of the dancers slip off the stage and start dancing between the aisles of the tables. Some of them preposition the meal’s attendants to dance with them. Each declines with a shake of their head and an excuse at the tip of their tongue. 

I catch the glance of the nearest girl and hold eye contact with her until she glides over with light dancing steps. She stops with a hand descended to me. I feel him startle next to me at her closeness. I can imagine the look on his face as I take her hand and let her pull me to my feet. It takes a moment to let my body slip into the beat but I start to move in similar patterns to the dances I have been observing. My dance partner smiles at me and a cheer goes up from the rest of the dancers as she leads me onto the stage. The crowd starts clapping with the beat as I get more into the dance. 

My hips shake and snap in undulating movement. I point my toes and sway my body back and forth. My wrists move about me both for balance and in silent accompaniment since I lacked the proper attire. I slide smoothly through the space granted by the ring of women, in few view of the crowd. I scan the said crowd and notice every eye is on me. Most expressions are amused, others look like they are already watching the women again. I take to insult. But a pair of emerald eyes stare at me with that intensity I had noticed before. But this was no slack jawed look. 

As the tempo of the song increases, there is no hesitation when I quickly pull my shirt off over my head and grab a coin decorated scarf off a close bannister to wrap around my waist. Finally I can add to the music as I roll my hips along with the rest of the dancers.

* * *

 

He tugs me through the small crowd of people to get closer to the street performer. The crowd cheers at some action that I cannot yet see. I am jostled forward as others follow our wake to the front. We stop just behind the ring of kids who stare wide-eyed and open mouthed at the swirling fires.

The man is shirtless, wearing only blooming pants cinched in at the waist with layered scarves wrapped around his torso and a small cap on top of his head corralling the otherwise wild long hair. His arms are held out to the side and his wrists twist around quickly, keeping two lit torches spinning around with enough speed to create the illusion of nearly complete circles. He crosses them in front of his body, the flames kissing his skin, but he does not react to the heat. 

Coins are tossed from the crowd to land in or around the small bag at his feet. I slip a couple coins out as well letting them clink happily in the growing pile. 

The entertainer finishes up his fire spinning with a flourish and deep bow. More coins fly forward as the crowd applauds. I am about to turn away, thinking it is over when I my sleeve is tugged on. 

“Oh, oh! I know this trick!”

I had missed whatever the set up was that caught my companion’s attention but I can put some of the pieces together when the entertainer lifts the lit torch in front of his mouth and then blows. A large gout of fire leaps out and upwards over the crowd causing women and children to shriek before applauding. I glance to the side and see his emerald eyes glittering with the reflection of the fire. Maybe glittering with the fire itself. 

More coins soar through the air as the entertainer breathes out more fireballs. I am busy trying to discover the trick, coming up with the solution that he has sipped some flammable liquid and is spitting it into the air to catch fire with enough force that it does not blow back into his face or chase the source back to his mouth. I do not know what exactly the liquid is but there are some possibilities in mind and I am in the middle of making a list when my companion interrupts.

“I can do that! Let me show you.”

My hand reaches out but only grabs air as he is just that much faster in my chock. He grabs the flask that the man is drinking from and takes a swig for himself. With eyes like a madman in the middle of his glee, he grabs the torch next; the entertainer is trying not to choke on his mouthful in surprise. 

There is a cry on the tip of my tongue about the danger of what he is attempting to do with no practice but the roar of combustion drowns it out. The burst of light has me blinking quickly to clear my eyes so I can assess the damage, but it seems like my worry was all for naught as he stands there unharmed while the children clap excitedly and beg for more. The entertainer even looks impressed and offers him another swig so he can continue to play with the fire.

* * *

 

After inquiring about the intricate designs I have been seeing on people’s skin throughout the city. Floral and geometric tattoos like lace against their hands and fingers. When I discover that it is temporary- only a week- my glee is apparent enough that I am then dragged along to a small parlor that specializes in the application of what I learn is called henna. A dye that stains the skin for only a week so one can draw and redraw pattern after pattern on a self refreshing canvas. 

I watch with rapt attention how they prepare the materials. They carefully measure out the powder and add in juices and oils to draw out the dye. They show me how to make a veritable palette of earth toned colors and educate me on how different oils can have different effects and meanings. My fingers are soon steeped in lavender and tea tree scents with the stains from the mehndi starting to appear just because of the dust laying around. 

They make me a batch and force me to sit still as two young women draw intricate geometric designs over the back of my hands. My fingers twitch a little as I want to draw but both hands are occupied. My plight seems to be the merriment of everyone around me. The small cones of material leave raised lines growing like vines up my skin. It is amazing how in sync the two are as they do mirrored patterns with such practiced precision.

Except for the immobility of my hands- I would not dare move them and interrupt their work- the room is very comfortable. He is lounging on his own pile of silk pillows drinking an aromatic herbal tea that I can just pick up over the soft drift of incense. The light filters in through scarves strung up across the ceiling, turning the midday sun into more of a soft glow usually reserved for morning or evening. 

I take a deep breath and relax into the rhythm of the strokes drawn across my skin as my mind creates more patterns that I would like to see on a fresh canvas. Before I know it they are rousing me from my thoughts. I look down at the finished work and thank them. I wish I did not have to wait to wash it off to see how the staining comes out, but patience is a virtue well rewarded. 

I glance over and find him asleep. I grin and make plans with the women who agree to satisfy my whims. I am allowed to make my own dyes, starting from scratch. I slip into the spot next to him after they are ready. The design leaps readily into my mind as I draw along his limp limbs. The women quietly coach me along on how to make my lines smoother and junctions cleaner. While my results do not look as professional as theirs, I still take pride in my work. 


	5. Interaction - Gardens, Fight, Politics

The gardens are breathtaking. It is obvious the amount of care and love put into each of the hundreds and hundreds of plants that make up this secluded corner of the city. It is amazing they managed to find such rich earth and bountiful clear water to support all of this luscious natural life. The whole of the space fills me with wonder even as each bloom calls out to me to record the brillant colors of each curling petal. 

I make it slow going through the gardens, even as small as it is because I have to give in to those artistic desires. My pastels race across the pages of my journal just try to capture the vibrancy of nature’s imagination. We move hardly move more than a couple feet before I find another bright blossom tucked under yet another arching fern.

Thankfully our hosts are mollified and their patience rewarded by yet another story of our extensive travels. Each one is told by wild gestures and with such colorful commentary that it rivals the flowers I am trying to record. I get the itch to either sketch out his descriptions so that they can better understand what he is trying to explain, or better yet, I could flip to that page in my journal and show them the images already recorded, but alas that would interrupt my current focus and keep us in this green palace for even longer. Not that I would mind too much honestly.

He keeps our hosts laughing with enviable ease, even for a courtesan like myself. No wonder I was so taken with him from the very beginning. And to think he almost turned me away. 

I catch myself glancing up at him from time to time when the stories he tells get to the best parts, where our hosts are nearly holding their breaths in anticipation. His emerald eyes catch mine with a sparkle in them as he tells us the climax of the adventure. I am caught up as well, so much that when I glance down at the page I am supposed to be recording botanical wonders on, I find a sketch of his expression. 

I flip the page quickly to hide my gaffe and return my attentions to the orchid hanging so delicately from the suspended planter while our hosts pepper him with questions to quell their disbelief over the fantastical story they heard. Some questions come my way and I answer them with the certainty of one who went through the same extraordinary tale that he laid out. Unable to catch us in deceit, our hosts finally relent and accept the story as true with awe.

While I could spend another season in these gardens and possibly still not find every magnificent specimen, I relent in my sketching quest and take our hosts up on their offer for dinner and a comfortable bed. With the promise to tell them more fantastical but true stories as well.

* * *

I have never seen him so incensed before. Usually when he confronts someone who is violating his morals, such as soliciting a woman for affections when she has obviously declined, he intervenes with clever diffusions that provide escape for the woman in question and causes the boorish would-be suitor to question himself and his motives. 

This however, this incident has his shoulders almost up to his ears and his fists clenched so tight that his knuckles are bloodless. The snarl on his lips cause the surrounding crowd to step back and give him space. Unfortunately his target and his posse does not seem to have the same situational awareness and continue to harass the young lady. His passions makes me wonder if he knew the petite brunette or possibly someone who is or was very similar. She does have very striking cerulean eyes.

I do not have any more time to ponder the possible sources of turmoil inside of him before said turmoil is released. He grabs the offender’s shoulder and spins him around. The momentum and surprise put the offender’s jaw in the prime position to be smashed by a hard cross punch which sends the man flying back into his group of mates, spilling several drinks.

I think they are actually more upset about the drink than the condition of their friend. 

I try to pull my own friend away before this can explode into something worse but he stands fast with his feet planted like he is planning on taking them all on. When I catch his expression, it has changed from something a little less murderous to something a little more excited. He still has a bloodthirsty snarl but something in his eyes gleam like glee. He has told me how he’s enjoyed an occasional brawl before. I suppose this is how something of that nature would start.

“We’re gonna getcha now!”

“Yer gonna regret that!”

“How dare ya mess wit tha Carom Crew!”

“Yer dead meat walkin’ li’l man.”

The snarl shifts into a grin which just fuels their anger to the boiling point where they rush forward. I absently note that the young woman as disappeared from the scene, but I am unfortunately in their line of sight and obviously acquainted with their target. Not that I would denounce him to save my own skin but I haven’t had a reason or opportunity to fight since my days on the street.

Fortunately as I am merely ancillary, I do not have to fend off the first wave of blows and therefore get a chance to study who will be the best to take out first. The air is already full of the sound of flesh hitting flesh as he embraces the fray. The fight finally turns to me as I note my objectives. 

The adrenaline pumping through my veins seem to trigger the muscle memory of so many fights for survival I’ve experienced before. I have to remind myself not to go immediately for the fatal strikes as I cut down the ranks of the brawlers with such brutal efficiency that even he pauses to admire my work. The fallen unconscious men around me only seem to frenzy the others into seeing if they can achieve where the others couldn’t. 

The surrounding crowd does not seem to participate except to act as a living fence to keep sprawling bodies from flailing into anyone else and causing more distress. I sense a bit of uncomfortable unease throughout but I do not know if it is directed at our enemies or ourselves. Or perhaps their own inaction to prevent the brawl.

Finally there are only a few of the Crew remaining but they keep distance from us as they survey their fallen comrades. 

“English is gonna hear ‘bout this!” the smallest one shouts as a parting shot before pushing through the crowd in retreat. I turn to celebrate victory but the look on his face makes the words stop in my throat.

“We must travel fast.” In the gravest tone I have ever heard him take, he asks, “Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” I answer instantly. He takes my hand and pulls me to the other exit of the tavern.

* * *

“My lady,” he murmurs as he bows in front of her. I mimic the gesture as it seems like the polite and correct thing to do. 

“You know you don’t have to stand on protocol for me, dear cousin. Please rise and join me for a cup of tea. Both of you.” 

We follow the soft spoken commands and follow the woman through the beaded curtain into the next room. She settles herself on one of the luxurious couches in the room, her silk veil carefully spread out around her. The two of us take the opposite couch and sink into the plush with soft sighs. Our bodies hurt from several harsh days of travel. I can barely believe the distance we managed to cover in such a short period of time but he was forever worried that we would not be quick enough.

A girl with pale strawberry blonde hair comes in with a tray laden with the instruments of tea and a pile of cookies. We wait for her to pour four cups with cream and sugar and a small cookie on each saucer. When she is done passing out the first three cups, she takes the fourth and settles down at her mistress’ feet, rose colored eyes peering over the rim of her cup at us.

“Is she-”

“I trust her with my life.” 

He nods, accepting the judgement as it’s already been said about myself with regards to this matter. Whatever it maybe. There has not been a moment long enough to explain anything. 

“I have been traveling very carefully. Not even my companion, as bright as he is,” he flashes me a smile at the complement, “hasn’t quite caught on to what my capricious travel plans really conceal. But my cover might have been blown with a recent run in with Carom Crew. I didn’t recognize the name right away, not until they brought his up. It’s one of his games that he likes to play. They didn’t implicitly recognize me but when he gets word-”

“Yes, he will not mistake you. Or he will assume it’s you in any case. I understand.”

“He is posed to attempt the coup. And the alert of my presence will be trigger.”

“What is your estimate?”

“One month. You will not fall, but it will be close. I have some recommendations. Do you have a map?”

She nods and gestures to her handmaiden to retrieve one. She parts the silks to take a sip of her tea while they wait. I catch glimpse of pale skin that reflects the greens of her silks making her look even more sickly than the stretch over her bones already indicates. I wonder how someone of her health would be able to withstand the force of a coup. But when she looks up at me her viridian eyes shine with the strength of conviction that will not break.

The other young woman returns and rolls out the map in the place that the tea tray was resting. I had not even seen her move it. Four jade pebbles hold down the corners. 

“Alright. Here, here, and here need more troops. This city needs new management. You have great underground support here which will undermine his attempts.” He rattles off several more suggestions to bolster defenses and preparations, almost as if an opposite army is about to sweep through the lands. Only a month to complete all of this work however. “This city has extra supplies that need to be sent here. That should buy us enough time to build an outpost here.”

“No. That land is sacred. We cannot disturb that forest.”

“Drats. Alright.” He bites his lips as he mentally restructures his strategy.

“May I suggest that you add a garrison here?” I speak up, catching onto what his plans. I might have joined him half way through his travels but I have still seen enough that his barricades come easily to mind and I can see the wall he is attempting to build. 

“Your old place? Yes, yes, I can see that. Especially if you put another here. Splitting them isn’t the strongest but it will force him to make a choice. Very good.” 

“Are you sure, dear cousin?”

“He will not take you, even if I have to kill the bastard myself. I swear it.”

“Then your suggestions will be done. Thank you for your work.”

“It is our honor,” the two of you answer the muse together.


End file.
